


The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Found Family Tree

by lookimadeahat



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen, I think?, M/M, One Shot Collection, Parent Edward Nygma, Parent Oswald Cobblepot, Tags Added as Applicable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 04:04:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20847248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookimadeahat/pseuds/lookimadeahat
Summary: Martin Cobblepot loves his family, he really does. Sure, they're a bit unconventional, but they are all wonderful people...regardless of what"laws"and"morality"might suggest.A collection of short stories about Martin Cobblepot and his crazy family.





	1. Chapters

This first chapter just breaks down what each new chapter will be (rating/length).

I intend for most, if not all of these fics to be G or T, but just in case that changes in the future, you'll be able to see that here! This info will be updated each time I post a new chapter.

**Names** \- Rating: G / Length: 1,227 Words


	2. Names

Shortly after Gotham’s reunification with the mainland, Martin moved in with Uncle Penguin and Uncle Ed (who was also sometimes Mister Riddler—it was confusing, but Martin was becoming used to it). He knew right away it was going to be the best experience of his life thus far, and he had been right. Not even six months after moving in together, Martin had begun to consider the two men his fathers. One day after school, he snuck into the library on the way home, finding a book on the Hungarian language. The night before, Uncle Penguin had mentioned that his mother, who was an actual, real-life saint, apparently, came from Hungary. Martin had wanted to broach the topic of calling Uncle Penguin and Uncle Ed “Dad,” or some variant of the term, for some time, but he didn’t want to use the same name for both of them and nothing seemed to fit right. “Father,” felt too formal. “Daddy,” felt too childish. Ever since Mister Riddler’s history lesson on all the reasons the English were historically awful to almost everyone, “Poppy,” made him think of opium. But then Uncle Oswald had told him about his mother last night, and Martin knew exactly what to do. He had flipped open the bilingual dictionary, rushing to find the Hungarian word for “Dad.” He quickly learned that the Hungarians have a lot of ways to call someone “Dad.” His eyes were scrolling down the page, when he saw—

_dad, father — apa_

It was funny what a difference one letter could make. “Papa,” had felt like something Martin would call a grandfather, but “Apa,” felt...perfect. There was no other way for him to describe it. He got a warm feeling in his chest and a happy, comfortable feeling in his soul. That was it. It was, truly, _perfect._

Now, Martin is pacing in front of the mirror in his bedroom in the Van Dahl Manor, struggling to work his tongue over the syllables.

“Ah-ah...Ah...p-p-puhh,” he gasps out. It is far too breathy; he knows it is. You can even barely tell he is making any noise. It honestly just sounds like forceful sighing. This is not going the way he had planned. 

Martin plops down on the floor, defeated. He _could_ just write it down. Uncle Penguin and Uncle Ed have never heard him talk. Nor has Mister Riddler. In fact, Martin is fairly certain none of them even know he _can_ talk...well, _sort of_ talk.

Talking is hard. It’s flat out painful. Why should he put up with it? No one would blame him. No one did once they got the results of the brain scan after the accident. When he talks—or _tries_ to talk—it’s quiet and airy and shaky and broken up by stutters. It feels like his vocal cords are tied together and his tongue is tied down, but he can fight it...for a few words.

And it will be worth it to see how happy it will make them...at least, he hopes it will. Determined, Martin stands back up, staring himself down in the mirror. He’s going to do it. He’s going to be able to say both of their names. He _will_ do it.

“D-d-d-d-da—”

A week later, Martin walks into the living room. Penguin and Ed (he can tell by the sweater—Mister Riddler doesn’t believe in casual attire before bed) are sitting down, reading. Uncle Penguin is on the sofa, his bad leg stretched out on the empty cushions as he reads an old, leather-bound book, humming quietly to himself. Uncle Ed is sitting in his armchair, arms flitting across the day’s newspaper at lightning speed.

Martin takes a deep breath, standing up straight and readjusting his pad, before tapping his fingers on the accent table to announce his presence. Both sets of eyes look up at him immediately, and he is greeted with two warm smiles.

“Martin!” Uncle Penguin says, cheerfully, “Come here, sit with us. Do you want Ed to pick out a book for you? You know he has great taste.”

Ed looks at Martin, waiting for his cue. To both men’s surprise, Martin shakes his head _no_.

Martin walks further into the room, until he is standing in front, and squarely in the middle, of Uncle Penguin and Uncle Ed. They are both staring at him, a baffled smiling gracing Penguin’s face and a nervous one gracing Ed’s. He smiles, a bit shyly, and turns his notepad so they can see it.

** _“I have an important question to ask both of you.”_ **

Penguin’s eyes dart towards Ed’s, and the two share an uneasy glance before Uncle Penguin replies, “Of course, Martin. You can ask us anything.”

“Well, maybe not _anything,”_ Uncle Ed is quick to interrupt. Martin doesn’t quite understand the look he is giving Uncle Penguin.

“He’s not going to ask about—How old do you think he is?” he hears Uncle Penguin whisper exasperatedly before he turns back to face Martin. “Go ahead, Martin. Ask away.”

Martin pulls the top sheet of paper off.

** _“Uncle Penguin, I would like to ask you first.”_ **

He tears off the second sheet.

** _“May I call you…”_ **

“Ah-ah,” Martin shuts his eyes and takes a shaky breath, “Ap-pa?”

Both Uncle Penguin and Uncle Ed stare at him in shocked silence. It takes a minute, but Uncle Penguin’s eyes begin to brim with tears and he surges forward, pulling Martin into a hug and _squeezing._

“Of course,” he says, “That...I would love that...so much. _So much.”_

He is shaking with emotion as he hugs Martin, and Martin feels as though he could almost cry, too, he is so happy. But he isn’t done. Pushing his _apa_ back, Martin guides him back to the sofa, turning to face Uncle Ed, who is still staring at him with the same bewildered expression he was when Martin spoke for the first time in their presence. Martin points to the message still on his notepad.

** _“May I call you…”_ **

“D-dad?”

Uncle Ed nods slowly, that wide-eyed look of shock and awe still on his face. He stands up, almost as if he is in a trance, and walks over to Martin, pulling him into a gentle hug.

“I didn’t know you could talk,” he says quietly as his arms stay loosely wrapped around Martin. After a moment of complete silence, Martin hears his dad whisper, “I love you, Martin. I really do.”

Martin feels positively overjoyed. It is strange, but so special, to have Ed hugging him. Ed doesn’t like hugs. Ed doesn’t even really like to touch people. But he will hug Martin. He will hug his _son._

Martin pulls back slightly, gesturing for Penguin to come join them, and he does, immediately.  
As Penguin joins in the hug, forcing Ed into holding Martin tighter as he squeezes them all close together, Martin feels the happiest he ever has. 

When they finally stop hugging—which is probably ten minutes later, thanks to his apa’s enthusiasm—Martin tears the paper off his notepad. He quickly scribbles on the new sheet of paper.

** _“Dad, would Mister Riddler mind if I called him Uncle Riddler now?”_ **

Ed smiled widely and Penguin laughed. 

“I think he would love that.”

They spend the rest of the together, in each other’s company. Martin and his fathers: his _family._


End file.
